


take shelter

by figure8



Series: i’ll stop the world [2]
Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Companion Piece, Denial of Feelings, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Introspection, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: Wonwoo’s hands are shaking. He tries to undo the buttons on Junhui’s shirt anyway, fingers slipping. Junhui’s stomach tightens in sympathy, a strange kind of kinship. He remembers being nervous and green.“Wonwoo,” he says, kissing his chin, then his lips fully, hand cupping his jaw.“I’ve never—” Wonwoo stumbles on his own words, “I don’t—”--Junhui’s side of the events inlight blue and gentle.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Series: i’ll stop the world [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532954
Comments: 17
Kudos: 204





	take shelter

**Author's Note:**

> this will not make much sense if you have not read _light blue and gentle_. it is a complementary piece—supposed to fill in the blank and shed light on junhui’s side of the story, and as such explores the scenes that were only alluded to/implied in LBAG.  
> it _is_ technically a WIP, but i debated posting each chapter as its own work, and you can definitely read them one at a time because while they do follow the chronological timeline of the main story they are vignettes, snapshots of junhui’s perspective, no cliffhangers. 
> 
> title from take shelter by years & years, which according to olly alexander himself is about getting fucked and the notions of masculinity tied to, uh, taking it up the ass.

_Take shelter_

_Take the pressure_

_Do what you want tonight_

_It’s alright if you want to get used_

_Then get used_

  
  
  


Wonwoo’s hands are shaking. He tries to undo the buttons on Junhui’s shirt anyway, fingers slipping. Junhui’s stomach tightens in sympathy, a strange kind of kinship. He remembers being nervous and green. 

“Wonwoo,” he says, kissing his chin, then his lips fully, hand cupping his jaw. 

“I’ve never—” Wonwoo stumbles on his own words, “I don’t—”

Junhui takes pity on him and kisses him again, swallowing the rest of his fractured sentence. Wonwoo sags against the door, mollifying. 

He’s beautiful in such a sharp, boyish way. Junhui spotted him the very first day of class, second row in the amphitheatre, round glasses somehow simultaneously nerdy and stylish. He doesn’t talk much in class, but he always has something to say on the online forum on workshop pieces. Sometime his comments border on mean, an edge of pretentiousness to his remarks. It kept Junhui from approaching him for weeks. 

In Junhui’s room under the moonlight all that quiet assurance is gone. Wonwoo lets himself be kissed, trembling slightly. Junhui has never held someone so scared. He presses his lips to the side of Wonwoo’s neck, nuzzling softly. Gentleness seems to be the right currency here—Wonwoo relaxes slightly, opens like a flower. Junhui found a wounded bird once, as a child, on the side of the road coming back from school. Broken wing, its feathers matted with blood. He remembers cradling it in his palms so very carefully, its little heart thumping so fast he could feel it. Slow movements, measured movements. Some birds, his grandfather had explained later when Junhui had showed him the tiny sparrow resting in a metallic cookie box he’d lined with gauze, some birds die of fear. Terror strikes the heart. 

Junhui’s sparrow survived, lesson learned. Fifteen years later he handles Wonwoo much the same, spooked animal. Wraps a cautious hand around his wrist, undoes his shirt himself. Wonwoo makes a soft, wanting noise. He places an open palm on Junhui’s stomach, spreads his fingers. Junhui’s breath hitches in his throat, abdominal muscles contracting. 

He maintains eye contact as he slowly sinks to his knees. Wonwoo makes the same noise again, but this time louder, eyes widening comically. Junhui thinks of saying something but decides against it. Instead he does quick work of Wonwoo’s belt, unzips his fly, chuckles to himself. The boy might be nervous but the body rarely lies. 

“This okay?” he asks anyway, because he still wants to make sure. 

“Yeah,” Wonwoo exhales, a puff of air he was clearly holding in. “Fuck,” he swears when Junhui touches him. “Ah, fuck.”

“I’m gonna suck you off,” Junhui tells him, just in case that wasn’t clear. Wonwoo just closes his eyes in answer, fingers flexing against the wooden panel of Junhui’s dorm door. Junhui finds himself horribly endeared. “You can pull my hair if you want,” he adds magnanimously before bending down to lick a stripe up the underside of Wonwoo’s dick, fingers a loose ring around the base. Wonwoo makes a strangled sound but his hands stubbornly remain at his sides. Junhui knows a challenge when he sees one. Palm pressed to Wonwoo’s hip to prevent him from thrusting into the heat of his mouth, he wraps his lips around Wonwoo’s cock and hollows his cheeks, eyes still trained on Wonwoo’s face. He uses his tongue to lavish attention over the sensitive tip before leaning forward until his nose is pressed against Wonwoo’s pelvis, taking him as deep as he can. The effect is immediate: Wonwoo bangs his head against the door, swearing loudly, and he grabs Junhui’s hair for purchase like Junhui just pressed a fucking _button_ for it. It’s hard to grin while deepthroating, but Junhui valiantly attempts to anyway. 

It really doesn’t take much, from there. Wonwoo’s fingers twist in Junhui’s hair and Junhui moans greedily around him, bobbing his head up and down, drawing suction around the length every time he pulls back until Wonwoo spasms under his hand and comes over his tongue. Junhui grimaces at the taste, grabs blindly for his Ikea trash can and spits in it once he’s found it, wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

“No offense,” he tells Wonwoo, voice hoarse, well-used.

“None taken,” Wonwoo says mechanically, a little star struck. “Should I—uh—”

He’s staring at the bulge in Junhui’s pants. Truth be told, the idea of reciprocation sounds _amazing_ right now—Junhui’s always been a little bit too into sucking dick—but Wonwoo also looks legitimately terrified, and Junhui also knows when to back down. 

“Nah,” he shakes his head, pushing himself up. He plants a close-mouthed kiss to the corner of Wonwoo’s mouth. “But maybe another time, yeah?”

“Another time,” Wonwoo repeats dumbly. He tucks himself back into his pants. “I couldn’t even bring myself to touch your dick and you want to see me again.”

Junhui laughs. It’s the same tone Wonwoo uses in class when he criticizes other people’s essays. “You’re cute. If you want to forget this ever happened, no biggie, but if you want to try again, that’s fine by me.”

It is indeed, partially, that Wonwoo is _very_ attractive. Deep down, it is also that Junhui feels for him, wants to reach out and pull him up. 

Wonwoo pushes his glasses up his nose, quiet. “I don’t have your number,” he says finally. Out of everything, _that_ is what tugs at Junhui’s heartstrings—the awkwardness, the awful _realness_ of this boy. He has to kiss him again, for real, dick-breath be damned. 

Wonwoo yelps softly, eyes widening, but he allows himself to he pushed up against the hard surface behind him again, kissed thoroughly. Hands framing his face, Junhui fucks his tongue into his mouth with hunger, desire flooding back. He’s hard in his skinny jeans and he’s wanted Wonwoo for a while, wants to feel him skin on skin, wants to be inside him, wants to see him unravel. Wonwoo’s fingers find his waist, grip his shirt. Their hips align. 

“Shit,” Junhui gasps against his lips, and Wonwoo stares at him, affected and curious. _“Shit,”_ Junhui says again when he slides a hand between their bodies, cups Junhui’s erection over his pants. 

“We don’t have to try another time,” Wonwoo says. His voice isn’t shaky or unsure. Just rough around the edges, a color to it Junhui recognizes, mirror to his own want. He bucks up into Wonwoo’s hand, exhale shattered. It’s too much and simultaneously not enough, the pressure minimal and too many layers between them, touch Junhui had already resigned himself to not getting. 

_He’s never touched another boy like this,_ Junhui thinks, _he’s never seen another boy like this, I don’t think he has ever even kissed one._ Through the haze of lust the thought activates something in him, something dark and hungry that should not be awoken, and Junhui buries his face in the crook of Wonwoo’s neck and sighs. 

“Oh,” Wonwoo says softly, Junhui’s jeans undone and pushed down around his thighs. 

“We can stop,” Junhui tells him, although the mere thought of it is kind of making him want to _cry,_ at this point. 

“No,” Wonwoo shakes his head with determination. He licks the inside of his hand and wraps it around Junhui’s length. “I know how to do _this_ at least,” he huffs, mostly to himself. 

There it is again, the _fondness._ Junhui doesn’t know what to do with it, as Wonwoo jerks him off slowly, the motions experimental. It’s clumsy, because Wonwoo isn’t used to this angle, to having everything reversed, but it is also the sweetest relief.

“You’re doing good,” Junhui offers, because it feels like he should say something. It comes out a little strangled. 

“Tell me how you like it,” Wonwoo demands. His brows are furrowed in concentration, resolve coloring his voice. Junhui finds himself comparing that to his in-class behavior again, how he always seems to _need_ to get things right. 

“It’s good like this,” he repeats. He leans forward, rests his forehead against Wonwoo’s shoulder. Like that he has a prime view of Wonwoo’s hand on his cock. There’s something unbearably hot about that. The rhythm of it is captivating. “How d’you get yourself off, Wonwoo?” he asks, emboldened. 

“Faster than this,” Wonwoo says, hoarse. “Tighter.”

“I like to take my time,” Junhui tells him. He has a hypothesis he wants to test. “You ever finger yourself?”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo breathes out, like he’s the one with a hand around his cock, “No, I—I—”

“Ever think about it?” Junhui presses. 

Wonwoo’s grip on him tightens slightly.

“Yeah,” he admits, voice low, barely above a whisper. 

“Ever wonder what it would feel like getting fucked?” Junhui asks, canting his hips up, picking up the pace now. His spine feels like molten lava, bones turned burning liquid. Wonwoo makes a throaty, cracked sound. He’s hard again. 

“Yeah,” he says again. “God, you’re _so_ —”

His pants are still unzipped from earlier, button popped. It’s easy to touch him again, wrap a hand around both their cocks, saliva and precome to help the slide. They’re not exactly rutting against each other but there is something primal to it still, Junhui thinks. Lips pressed to the underside of Wonwoo’s jaw, he murmurs more filth into Wonwoo’s warm skin, tells him how good it feels to be filled, to be taken, to let go. 

“I’m going to come,” Wonwoo warms, strained, when Junhui thumbs at the slit of his cock. “Jesus, _fuck—”_

He shoots _hot white sticky_ over both of them, coats Junhui’s cock with it too, makes everything wetter and warmer and smoother and Junhui’s movements become erratic, hips snapping in pursuit of his own pleasure. When he comes he catches Wonwoo’s gaze, watching him hungrily, the glint in his irises much more than simple curiosity. It sends electricity through Junhui’s veins, current zapping, aftershocks. He slumps into Wonwoo’s chest, his own heaving. 

“Well, crap,” Wonwoo says after they’ve both regained their breaths. 

Junhui grimaces. “Are you gonna freak out?”

He’s not equipped for this, not really. He’ll roll with it anyway, because he owes Wonwoo that much, when he dragged him back to his room to fuck him. Reflexively, he hooks his chin over Wonwoo’s shoulder, a half-embrace, pressing him further into the wood of the door. 

“I don’t think so,” Wonwoo says. He sounds stable enough. Junhui detaches himself from his body. 

If he was drunk at the beginning of the evening, when he cornered Wonwoo in the restroom and confronted him about his not-so-secret habit of staring at Junhui’s ass every time he gets the chance, he’s stone cold sober now, and Wonwoo is still just as beautiful. Maybe more here in the chiaroscuro, as opposed to under the harsh neon lights of a bar’s toilet. He has the face of a movie star that gets type-casted in the Mr Darcy roles, brooding and repressed and irresistible. He has the face of every painfully straight crush Junhui has ever had. 

“I still don’t have your number,” he says, corner smile. Junhui chuckles against his will. 

“Gimme your phone,” he says, hand extended. He punches in his number, saves its under his Korean name. He wonders, for a fleeting instant, if he should offer his bed. Or—something, anything else. It doesn’t feel right to kick Wonwoo out like that. What Junhui likes best about sex is the intimacy right after, the weird liminal space between satiety and sleep, the easiness of sharing a blanket with someone who has touched and seen everything there is to touch and see. 

“I’ll see you around, I guess?” Wonwoo makes the decision for him.

“We have class together, yes,” Junhui replies, amused. Wonwoo flushes bright red. “Hey,” Junhui says, gentler, hooking two fingers under his chin. “Text me, okay?”

Wonwoo blinks, cheeks pink. “Okay,” he promises. 

When the door closes behind him Junhui is still left with the unsettling impression of having done something wrong. He cannot figure out if he did too much or not enough. He cannot figure out why it matters _so much_ either. He’s tempted to text Minghao, but Minghao is either sleeping or _busy,_ and Junhui is many things but not a bad friend. This isn’t even a real crisis. It’s a vague sentiment, like a itch he cannot reach and scratch. Because he’s used to fucking strangers, maybe, and Wonwoo is neither a stranger nor a friend, but a boy Junhui likes, a boy Junhui has to see again in a few days in a completely different context. Maybe it’s that Wonwoo was so vulnerable with him he reminded Junhui of his own fissures, of days long gone when he didn’t know yet what to do with his hands and all this desire. 

Maybe it’s that Junhui is lonely, in this room made for two. 

His phone vibrates in his back pocket, interrupting his train of thought. He frowns at his locked screen. It’s 2:23 in the morning. 

The text is from an unknown number, Seoul area code. 

_I made it back to my dorm. Now you have my number too. -W_

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i’m always happy to hear your thoughts ❤️  
> i’m writing this as i go, and i’m planning to at least get most of the sex scenes that were not explicit in LBAG, but if there are other passages in particular you think would benefit from a POV remix, i’m open to suggestions!


End file.
